


Weak Together

by squire



Series: Everything Of Me [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Assassination, Dominant Hux, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Compromised Hux, Emperor Hux, Established Relationship, Flirting, Forced Infidelity, Jealousy, Kylo Deserves Better, M/M, Submissive Kylo Ren, amidala kylo, happy ending i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-28 10:37:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6325681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/pseuds/squire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wanted to be yours. Yours alone. I gave you everything of me." </p><p>Set in the universe and after the events of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6273703">Painted Crimson</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> You have to thank for this one to [Ylevihs](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs) \- she didn't know what angst-fest she was going to unleash when she commented on the first part of this series: "I just want them to be weak together..."
> 
> Completely unbeta'ed. Hopefully my English won't retract from the reading experience too much.

The reception is going well. Posh and exceedingly well-catered, of course, but everything is carried out in an undemonstrative, discreet, almost subdued manner. The Galda family is well aware of the impression they need to make. They have their good old name on their side - and that's about all. The asteroid belts around the planet they own, rich in ore, are currently more of a dead weight than a trump on the market. With the demilitarisation of the New Republic fleet, there's not much demand for this particular commodity. They call this trade negotiations but in fact, it's an auction. Hux has deemed wise to make an appearance. Securing an acquisition directly for the crown is a possibility.

Now the most of the tentative ground testing is over and the real petty squabble will break out tomorrow. Hux moves smoothly through the gathering. Conversations wash over him. He's benevolent tonight. He's also bored out of his mind.

He accepts another glass of nectar and his gaze idly scans the crowd when he notices a disturbance in the otherwise smooth flow of social interaction. The pattern of people milling around the room, of the steadily and politely swivelling cauldron of meaningless pleasantries and frivolous trivialities, is disrupted in one particular spot. The irregularity sticks out like a boulder in a stream. It's Ren. Of course it's Ren.

Ren is hovering, somewhat awkwardly, at the drinks table. The fingers of his left hand still linger on the edge of his empty glass where he'd just put it down. He's staring down into the face of a young man - Hux recognises him as Aalim, the second son of the Galda family - who's in turn looking up to him and talking a blue streak from the look of things. Hux can't catch a word from where he's standing but even at the distance it's clear that the man's mouth is yapping, the gestures of his elegant hands accompanying his speech in an animated and ever so slightly exaggerated manner.

Hux nods in magnanimous greeting to a passing oligarch and takes an appreciative sip of his wine. Over the rim of his glass, his eyes skid across the room, back to the drinks table.

The son of the wealthy (though for now only in connections and vague potential) family still stands close to the Knight of Ren. His social manners are impeccable - Hux is certain that there's exactly the distance between them that is considered respectful for first-time conversation. The thing is, there's not a half-inch more. Aalim Galda has put himself as close as the protocol allows him. Most of the people who have to deal with the Emperor's own Force-user strive to keep more distance between themselves and the Knight. They're afraid of his lightsaber. His reputation precedes him. His black and silver mask unnerves them.

Of course, Hux corrects himself, Ren isn't wearing his mask tonight. Nor his ominous heavy robes of black and grey. He's wearing his other mask - the persona of the courtier. The Emperor's vassal, the decorative embodiment of Hux's absolutism. His robes are a lush sweep of purple velvet lined with gold, his hair is interwoven with golden lace and the most compelling features of his face - those deep eyes and full lips - are highlighted with dots of purple, high on his cheekbones and in the middle of his bottom lip, stark against the rest of his face powdered into an even shade of white.

A haughty, perfect face, blatant in its single-mindedness, dark eyebrows hovering on the edge between blank and mildly confused, focused on the upturned, radiant face of his admirer.

Hux scoffs at the word when it rises, unbidden, to the forefront of his mind. He accepts another compliment from another member of some old family that hopes for a comeback into the world of the wealthy and influential. He turns his back on the scene. In public, the Knight is his subject, and the Emperor demands and cares for nothing more than his sworn loyalty. In private, their relationship is purely transactional.

With his back to the drinks table, Hux finds himself faced with a large wall mirror. The young man has now stopped talking. His head is cocked to the side, chin lifted, an indecently long line of his neck bared to Ren's eyes. The halo of his snow-white curls bounces around his gold-studded ears when he tilts his head in a coquettish bow, his pale eyelashes lowered over his rosy red albino eyes.

Ren is still staring at him as if he doesn't know what to do with such display of tartness. It's completely ridiculous, and yet Hux is far from amused. Ren, that towering mass of a man, the pure width of his shoulders threatening no matter what he's wearing, and he's rendered speechless by a simpering, flirting fool.

Hux finds himself unable to not notice the unsubtle tells of the young man's body posture. Every aspect of his body language screams eager submissiveness. His dainty feet, one tucked behind the other, hip cocked to the side - a false coyness, a cleverly calculated move to detract from his height. He's making himself smaller. The tilt of the head, the semi-permanent shrug of one shoulder. Pretended nervousness, in fact an invitation.

Then Aalim lifts deftly Ren's right hand and presses a lingering kiss to the fine leather of his glove, right where it's taut over his knuckles. And he doesn't let go of the hand right away, no, he's letting it slip out of his grasp slowly, he doesn't lift his head either, so that Ren's gloved fingers inadvertently brush under the man's jaw as the Knight snatches his hand back.

Hux tears his eyes from the scene and addresses the first person approaching him a second before Ren forgets himself and shoots him a glance across the room. He can feel Ren's perturbed gaze just out of his peripheral vision, he can sense the Knight's disconcertion even without the Force, but their rules are clear. No eye-contact on public events.

When Hux glances that way some minutes later, once again exuding an aura of indifferent boredom, Ren is nowhere in sight. Young Aalim Galda is leaning against the table, legs crossed at the ankles, a speculative, far-away look in his eyes. He's smiling softly into his wine glass.

Hux doesn't care. Ren is loyal to the throne. Of course Hux doesn't care. He doesn't have to.

The reception is beyond boring. Hux decides that his time would be better wasted sleeping. He makes for the door, brushing off the bows and curtseys as he goes. The last thing he sees before he leaves the room is an albino head, slipping away through another exit.     

 

*

 

The rooms appropriated by the Emperor and his suite in the ancestral home of the Galda family are befitting of his station and the self-perceived importance of their host. Vast, ornate, poorly lit, and as Hux leaves his bodyguards and aides in the anterooms and enters the inner circle, he realises that his rooms are also already occupied.

It's the way the darkness in one corner of the room seems even fuller, and with a shade of purple. Ren has removed his gold ornaments and thrown the headpiece of his robe over his white-painted face, effectively blending in with his surroundings. Hux is reasonably certain that Ren wouldn't have committed indiscretion - he wouldn't have let anyone see him entering the Emperor's quarters – but his presence aggravates him all the same.

"You aren't permitted in my rooms uninvited when we're planet-side, Ren."

The darkness shifts, leather-soled boots soundless on the rich carpet. Ren stops at the edge of a striped rectangle of light falling onto the floor, the reflected shine from the planet's belts coming in through the barred window.

"Lights–" Hux barks out, channelling his impatience onto the ambient system. "Fifty percent."

He realises his mistake when the room remains dark. Of course. This is not his Palace, equipped with every piece of sensible technology that Hux has grown accustomed to rely on during the years spent onboard of military starships. This is an old, ostentatious, crumbling house likely with some obsolete lighting system that probably has to be switched on manually.

Then the chandelier above his head, as well as smaller sconces scattered along the walls, reluctantly and fitfully blink to life.

"Oh, great." Hux glares at the ceiling. "That was you, or is the system response really so slow?"

Ren lifts his head and a corner of his mouth twitches. "I'm afraid the latter, Emperor. You know I prefer the dark."

Hux narrows his eyes at him. "How much have you had to drink? Because that was terrible, Ren. I am not in the mood for playing tonight."

He's surprised how much the words grate at his tongue as he says them, as if he was spitting uncut, raw rocks, not his usually well-thought out and well-polished little gemstones.  Honesty isn't a strategic advantage, and Hux doesn't know how to shape his mouth around it, how to smoothen his voice so it wouldn't scrape his own ears.

Ren is watching him and something about his posture is odd. Maybe he really had too much to drink. He's standing tall as usual but something about him is slanted. As if something cardinal to him is slowly giving way. His hands are clasped in front of his body and Hux's eyes rest for a moment on the knuckles of the right one, the thin leather glove smooth and clean. He imagines that a lipstick wouldn't cling to such slithery material. Or maybe the purple colour would hide the stain. Or perhaps that boy's lips weren't accentuated at all; they only looked garishly pink because of the blinding whiteness of the rest of his face. Or maybe Ren has wiped it away.

And the idiot still hasn't spat it out why he's even here, in the Emperor's quarters, like a watch dog that's rejected a passer-by's offer of juicy slab of meat and crawled back into its kennel to gnaw at a dry bone thrown to him by his master. Expecting he'd be praised for it. Hux feels sickness rising from his stomach, discomfort sinking its prickly claws in between his vertebrae, slowly climbing up his spine.  

 "Well? Any reason you're wasting my time?"

Ren clears his throat. "There's been a man at the party, trying to get... friendly with me."

Hux snorts, loudly, and goes over to a little table in a niche, displaying a decanter, some glasses and a variety of beverages. He's going to need something stronger that has been served at the reception for this.

"And?" Corellian whiskey sounds like a good choice. "You think he poses a threat?"

Ren frowns. "No," he admits. "Not a spy, or a conspirator... He has been conditioned against first-level mind probing, though. If I wanted to see his full intentions I'd have to dig deeper and he would've noticed."

Well, that's at least mildly interesting, but not uncommon - a lot of nobles and practically everyone with ties to the old Empire is in the habit of conditioning all family members and household staff against that kind of sorcery.

"It appears he's been interested in gaining favours... with me." Ren still sounds puzzled about it. And what's worse, guilty as well.

"Then he's certainly got a fine taste," Hux remarks, aiming for sarcasm and overshooting that for a mile. He's not in complete control of himself tonight and it's driving him spare. "My question still stands, what are you doing here? You're an adult, Ren, however you sometimes don't seem to know how to behave like one, and you surely realise you don't need my permission to... fraternise."

"I do not want it," Ren says quietly. It takes Hux a second to realise that Ren doesn't mean his permission. He means the, as Hux has put it, fraternisation.

It would be heartwarming, if Hux was interested in keeping his heart warm.

"You're missing out," he taunts. "The second son of old Galda is very motivated to seek favours among the courtiers. He doesn't stand to inherit the family estate, and what funds they still have will be swallowed up by the dowries for his three sisters. Do you perhaps find him unattractive?"

Ren's upper lip twitches in disgust.

"That's not the point–"

"And what is, then?" Hux throws his arm wider than he intended to. A droplet of amber liquid lands on the carpet. "You have a young, handsome man practically eating out of your hand. As long as you don't babble about the plans for the Empire in bed, I don't care whose bed that is."

The lights in the room are terribly inadequate. Ren's eyes are darker than they should be, even with the contrast of the layer of white make-up around them.  

"You don't mean it."

The bottom of the half-empty glass hits the table with a loud _thunk_. Expensive liquid sloshes inside but nothing spills this time.

"Don't forget your place, Ren."

Hux doesn't even know why this - this misplaced loyalty angers him so. He never asked for it. It feels like an offence, having it shoved in his face.

He always knew that taking care of Ren this way would turn back to bite him in the arse someday. Ren is too needy, too presumptuous. Hux knows exactly what he needs from Ren: his power securing the throne. Ren should be equally aware what he gets from Hux: a respite from the maelström of his temper. He shouldn't ask for more. A good tool doesn't get to ask when and how it should be used, it shouldn't whine about being neglected...

Hux doesn't hear the gasp: he feels it as his own. Something odd happens in his head, a distinct snatching sensation - the jerk of a hand burned on a live wire but without any heat, or perhaps the repulsive rebound of a droplet of water that falls onto an oily surface, curling on itself into a minimal form. He blinks. The lights in the room suddenly seem brighter.

"Have you been inside my head?" he growls but Ren is already on his way out, rich purple billowing behind him like an accusation.

 

 

 


	2. II

Morning comes late and goes uneventful. Hux is keeping standard time, his brain still programmed to the regular cycle of artificial day and night onboard a starship. He waits patiently for the planet's sunrise, the sun silvery and weak, filtered through the grainy mass of the belts, his breakfast consisting of a cup of caf and a cigarette. As a general, he often forwent breakfast in favour of going over the night shift's reports, and now his body is set in its ways. The caf is strong as a team of banthas, shot with almond liquor and bittersweet like the memory of a triumph - the bitter note owed to the fact that for Hux, looking back means seeing everything that could have been done better still.

It's a good morning, oddly peaceful. Which is why everything starts to come down as soon as he leaves his suite and the first thing he sees is the white curly head of young Aalim Galda.

That little squirt is dawdling down the hall, his dancer's feet tapping out a little rhythm every couple of steps as if he is listening to a song inside his own head, his heavy-lidded eyes are full of that dreamy look from yesterday and he keeps breaking into a smile for no apparent reason, like a cat that's got the cream. According to Hux's shrewd judgment, he looks well-fucked.

When Aalim spots the stern figure of the Emperor, flanked on either side by his guards, he stops, bows, his hand fluttering through the air like a mocking butterfly, and then he disappears through one of the arcades leading into the inner gardens.  

Hux has the comm in his hand and half of the Ren's track device signature logged in before he realises what he's doing. He scowls into the empty air and shoves the pad back into his pocket.

"Good morning, your Majesty!"

It seems everyone on this damn planet is determined to romantically wade through the morning dew in the gardens, Hux thinks as he turns to greet the approaching patriarch of the Galda family.

"Have you had a good rest?"

Hux thinks of the overly sweet nectarwine served on the reception and purple shadow fleeing his rooms in the middle of the night. "Very good. This house is charmingly quiet at night."

"That's the thick walls for you," Askan Galda says with conviction. "It muffles the buzzing of the generators. Force field is a necessity, with the occasional meteor shower, but heaven knows I never got used to it."

Hux tells himself that this is the reason he couldn't fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning. He's been missing the soothing buzz of the starship's engines, that's all.

"I was hoping to catch a word with you before the vultures settle on me," Askan Galda lowers his voice once he's striding next to the Emperor and shares a jovial chuckle. Hux lets himself be led out, into the blasted gardens. The air is sticky with humidity, sprinkles in the lawns rotating lazily and creating the dampness that can't fall from the sky naturally, with the protective force field capped over the house like a glass bell. The prevalent colour of vegetation is rusty red, almost morbid in the rays of silvery sunshine but the impression of a blood-soaked battlefield doesn't bother Hux in the slightest. He doesn't have a preference on how a planet should look. Arkanis was dark green, mouldy blue and grey with endless rains, and Hux hated it with passion. Many planets of the Outer Rim are nothing but a barren rock, hewn into homes with the exiles' sweat and blood. Coruscant, the Empire's capital, is by far the closest what Hux likes in an aesthetic - transparency of glass, blue lustre of steel, greyish white of ferrocrete.  

The next quarter of an hour passes in business conversation and Hux doesn't catch sight of a single white curly hair.

When he returns to his suite, the Knight of Ren is waiting in the anteroom. An official audience then. Hux dismisses everyone else and beckons Ren to follow him inside.

"Take that off," he says, curtly, once they are alone. He dislikes trying to make an eye-contact with a silver-lined void of a mask. "How can you stand to wear this in this weather?" Hux's collar is plastered against the back of his neck, the skin stinging with sweat, and he'd been outside only for a short stroll.

The mask comes off with a soft click. Ren doesn't put it on a table though, he keeps it under his arm.

"I've just returned," he explains. "I took a shuttle this morning to inspect some matters that intrigued me."

"Well?" He's said this morning. When exactly? Is he being deliberately vague? "Should the matters intrigue me as well?"

"I'd say so." Ren pulls out a datapad and hands it over. Hux scans through the report: a couple of pictures, some footage, a handful of files that look like downloaded from a protected database. Decryption algorithms are still chewing through some of them.

On second look, Hux suddenly understands why Askan Galda had been so eager this morning to strike a deal with the Empire. The mining company has been low on cash for longer than they were letting on. The mining facilities on the shepherd moons are outdated and left without maintenance for so long that any buyer would have to spend an awful amount of credits just on getting the production back online.

"Swindlers," Hux smirks. He's oddly satisfied that his innate suspiciousness has once again proved correct. This intelligence is valuable: while he has no intention of saddling the Imperial finances with a disadvantageous acquisition, he can now manipulate the others, still unsuspecting, buyers. Deliberately weaken some that could threaten him economically.

"Who tipped you off?"

Ren's face is blank, suspiciously so. "Aalim Galda," he replies.

Hux lifts his eyebrows. He hadn't thought that sycophantic whelp had it in him. "He betrayed his family's plan?"

"Not wilfully," Ren adds. He seems reluctant to share the details. Hux feels something ugly coil low in his chest.

"Explain."

 Muscles twitch along the edge of Ren's jaw. His eyes are dark-ringed and just a little bit glassy, and for the first time during their talk Hux is struck by the realisation that this isn't the Ren of late, the Ren he knows inside out, the one whom he coaxed from his inner restraints and focused all his burning intensity onto himself. This is the Ren of their beginnings, still walled up inside his own head. This is a grievous setback.

"As I suspected, he'd been conditioned against the surface mind probing," Ren says in careful monotone. "Though, once distracted, his defences dropped considerably. I could read everything."

The ugly thing seated low in Hux's chest has grown claws and sunk them deep in between his ribs. He finds it hard to breathe.

 _Distracted_. He puts together Ren's stiff unease, Aalim's morning smugness. Hux had made a mistake last night. He'd let the sight of someone flirting with Ren get under his skin, trigger emotions an Emperor shouldn't afford to have. And then, in an attempt to curb those unwanted feelings, he'd let his anger boil over and lash out, entirely misdirected. He'd been needling Ren, prodding him into taking up on Aalim's offer.... he didn't actually think Ren would've done it.

No: he was absolutely sure Ren wouldn't have done it. That's why he dared him to.

The ugly creature taking up the space inside Hux's chest cavity slithers one invisible paw up and pulls his face into a sneer. "Is this particular interrogation technique something the Knights of Ren use often?"

"I don't think the details are necessary."

"You're wrong," Hux spits. He comes to stand directly in front of the Knight, their chests almost touching. There were times Ren would've fought an impulse to lean down and seek a kiss - Hux has seen him struggle so many times. Not today. Today, Ren is an immovable object, and Hux is an unstoppable force.

"You will tell me everything. Every detail. I need to know exactly what a Knight is willing to do for the sake of the Empire."

Ren drops his gaze to meet Hux's. For a moment, Hux considers backing down. Not from hurting Ren - right now, he wants nothing more than to hurt Ren, to twist the knife in his wound and make himself forget about the knife that slices him slowly from inside - but from the beast curled at the bottom of Ren's eyes. Hux was always been able to tame it. Today, he's not so sure.

Then Ren looks away and draws a deep breath.

"Wait. This is not how you present a report to your Emperor." Hux takes a couple of steps back and slides gracefully into a chair, putting his hands lightly on the armrests. He nods to the spot before his feet.

Ren hesitates - no, he's actually considering refusing. Hux doesn't need the Force to read his face. But after a moment he makes his feet move, coming to stand in front of the makeshift throne and sliding to one knee in the designated spot.

Hux lifts his chin. "Good. Carry on."

"I went to Aalim's rooms. He mentioned the location of them to me during the reception." Ren pauses, searching for words. Hux can't tell if it's because of the embarrassment or because he simply never had to talk about these things. He always needed only to listen, to obey.

"He was waiting for me."

Hux can picture it. That nimble, petite but well-proportioned body, alabaster white and perfect. Aalim would've used it to his advantage. He would've shown it off, using the time he'd spent waiting to get rid of his pearly green evening robes, he would've greeted Ren wearing only a dressing gown. Or maybe even less.

"He had a particular scenario in mind - a scene he wished us to play out."

Ren is blushing now, and obviously angry with himself for this weakness. The hand holding his mask against his side is trembling.

"He knew that my grandmother had been, for a short while, the Queen of Naboo. This, and my evening attire, was what's been attracting him. He wanted to indulge in a fantasy: a Prince and his manservant."

Hux wants to laugh. No wonder Ren looked so puzzled under the onslaught of Aalim's flirtation at the party. He literally didn't know what to do with the offered submissiveness. Ren looks up to authority, he wants to be claimed, he never learned how to do the claiming. That scene must have been priceless - a part of Hux regrets that he wasn't there to watch, to take sharp and sick pleasure in observing Ren breaking his bones to fit into unfamiliar shoes.

He leans forward. "Pray tell, my Prince," he purrs, "was he a worthy servant?"

Ren flinches. Then the aloof, carefully upheld indifference is back. Hux wants to crack it with his bare hands, tear at it with his nails until they bleed.

"He certainly knew how to help someone out of their boots," he says, a tad stubbornly.

"Did he wash your feet?"

Ren holds his gaze, trying to keep the shame from overflowing. "He licked them. Every inch of skin."

The fabric of the upholstered armrests tears under Hux's fingers. He wants to cut out the whelp's tongue and nail it to the door of this pretentious house.

"Did the Prince like it?"

Ren takes a shuddering breath. In and out. His teeth are gritted together so hard that he might break his jaw.

"The _Prince_ had a natural body reaction."

Hux files the fact away with a touch of surprise. He never noticed that Ren's feet could be so sensitive. But then, everything about him was.

"Did the good servant offer to take care of that reaction, as well?"

_Say he did. Describe to me how it felt to have his tongue where nobody ever touched you but me. Tell me how you hated it._

Hux doesn't know if Ren is listening to his thoughts. It doesn't feel like it - there's no outside pressure on his mind. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to recognise it amidst the wreckage his own monsters are raging on his brain now. But Ren doesn't seem to have heard. He's changed now: he looks less like shattering on the inside and more determined.  Defiant, even.

"I told him to show me his skills on himself. That based on his performance I would decide if he was fit to touch me."

Again, Hux's mind conjures a ready visual. Aalim Galda, naked and kneeling on the floor, flawless expanse of skin flushed pink from arousal and daring, jacking himself off while Ren watches.

"Did he put on a good show?"

"He certainly enjoyed himself very much," Ren says, completely disregarding Hux's actual question, and adds: "While he lost himself in the fantasy, I was able to sift through his mind and extract what I needed."

"And then? Did you reward him for being so accommodating?"

Ren lifts his hand in a vague gesture Hux has seen him use on prisoners, causing them insufferable pain without a single touch. "I used my powers to multiply his sensations and when he climaxed, I knocked him unconscious." He snaps his fingers, just like that. "It wouldn't do to raise his suspicion by leaving him unsatisfied. Then I put him in bed, downloaded his access codes from the terminal in his bedroom, and left to inspect the state of the mining facilities. That's all."

 _It's already more than enough_.

"You've been very gentle with him," Hux mocks. "You should have seen him this morning. He looked like he had the fuck of his life."

"Not every master needs to be cruel," Ren says, quiet but clear.

Hux decides to pretend he didn't hear that. He leans back in the chair in a comfortable sprawl, elbows on the armrests, and touches his fingertips above his chest in a meditative pose.

"That information you brought is useful. I can't say I approve of the method but then, I am known to be the utilitarian. One more thing, though. Aalim Galda." He pauses. The decision is not right, but _feels_ right, and Hux very much wants to feed his hungry soul, just once. "I want him dead."

Ren nods, that simple muscle movement his only reaction. He must have anticipated it.

"Consider it done," he says. "May I know the reason, your Majesty?"

 _For having the impudence to touch what is mine_. Hux stomps on the thought. That way lies madness.

"His family tried to swindle us," Hux shrugs. "Let this be a lesson to his father. He doesn't lose much in him - when the son can be such a fool as to spill their secret to the enemy for a night of pleasure, he'd bring more grief than joy to the family in the long run anyway."

Ren nods again, the motion slower now, thoughtful. Weighted with disappointment. Then he moves to stand.

"Not so fast, Ren." Hux fixes him with a look. "We aren't done here."

The tiniest huff of air escapes through Ren's nose. Then he settles back. His knee must be aching by now but he's still, patient. Immovable object indeed.

The creature sprawled all over Hux's lungs is appeased now a little by the offer of young Galda's blood but he still feels the thud of his own heartbeat in his ears, still sees flickers of white fury every time he looks at Ren and his mind supplies the smiling face of Galda next to him. He aches too, not in body but with his very soul, to erase every touch the brat has left on Ren's skin. To seize back his dominion. To punish Ren for ever making him feel so much.

"You broke one of our rules last night," Hux begins. "You have been inside my head."

Ren doesn't protest. His impassive gaze is fixed somewhere in the level of Hux's knees.

"Do you want to atone for that?" It's a formality, this question, one that Ren never denies. Of course he wants to atone. He wants to be broken and put back together by Hux. Everything will be as it should be.

"No."

For a span of a breath, Hux thinks he must have misheard. Then Ren stands up. Without being allowed to.

"I did what you told me to do last night. I obeyed. Like the tool you wanted me. I have been useful. And I hated every minute of it."

Ren is trembling now. The hold of his sweating hand on his mask is slipping.

"I wanted to be yours. Yours alone. I gave you everything of me."

Hux breathes in Ren's desperation and melts it into a shield of calm around himself.

"If you step out of that door, we're done. I won't be taking care of you anymore. Think of how you have been before me. Is that what you want?"  

Ren stares at him, eyes wild, for a long moment. His mouth moves on words without sound. In the end, he bursts out:

"I want you to stop hiding yourself from me!"

The door has long stopped shaking in its frame when Hux remembers how to breathe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants to meet [the little fool Aalim Galda](http://sinningsquire.tumblr.com/post/148259268106/look-at-this-little-cute-troublemaker)? The ever-so-kind theriseofthefirstorder on Tumblr drew him for me. He looks even better than I described him:)


	3. III

One of the most important and most remembered pieces of advice young Hux ever got from his father came at the tender age of three: _Don't break your toys._

Hux keeps himself entertained by imagining the various scenarios in which Ren might carry out his order to kill young Galda. Would it be the hiss of burning skin and instantly cauterized veins, a thud and roll of a decapitated body on the floor, a merciful swiftness of a lightsaber? Hux doubts it. Ren treats his blade as a battle companion, he wouldn't dishonour it by a lowly execution. Would it be the grip of the Force around delicate neck, white face turning purple and then blue, rosy eyes welling up with red from burst capillaries? But Ren had already used Force on Aalim, to bring him pleasure. Or would it be something mundane but brutally effective, like a slit throat or a crushed skull? Hux doesn't know.

When it happens, it's like nothing he could ever imagine.

Everyone is gathered at the formal closing reception, the low afternoon sun almost entirely shielded by the belts. The Emperor is seated in one of the corners, engaged in conversation with the host, when Kylo Ren makes an entrance, about as unobtrusively as his attire allows him, which is not much.

He's draped in another one of his court finery. Black cloak over long white tunic with the criss-crossing patterns of Mon Cala coral beads. Their crimson colour reminds Hux of a night a couple of weeks ago. He had just come back from a six weeks long journey, a hollow and aching cavity under his ribs, and let Kylo's cries and moans and tears fill it and heal it like a balm. That night when he had praised Kylo perhaps too much, when he had indulged in his own ache perhaps too much.

Hux wonders now if the colour on Ren is now meant as a message. A taunt, to show that Hux's slip on his control that night hadn't gone unnoticed.

 _You should wear this colour more often_ , Hux had said that night. But today, Ren's face is not made up the same way as before. The jingling net of corals falling over his forehead is gone, and instead there are loops and loops of beads hanging around his neck, all the way from under his chin down to his sternum. It looks as if someone slit his throat open in zero gravity, the drops of blood sprayed from his neck forming a morbid necklace.

There's also no crimson on his face. Against the base of white, the only other colour is black with a metallic shine, reminding Hux vaguely of tricopper. Half-moons are drawn under Ren's eyelids, elaborate swirling pattern adorns his forehead, and a wide circular stain of black splits his bottom lip.

Aalim arrives amidst the last attendants, which is an insolence since he's a member of the hosting family. He's wearing black. Hux conceals a smirk. Already attempting to match Ren's style. His head and bare hands look ethereal against the dark cloth. It's amusing how much he already resembles a body on a catafalque.

He scans the crowd idly for a moment and then he sidles up to Ren. A servant passes by with a tray of drinks. Aalim lifts two and offers one to Ren. They both take a sip.

Hux watches, out of the corner of his eye, Ren murmur something. The young man's face lights up with a smile and then he's surging up for a kiss. Hux averts his attention from the lingering, embarrassingly sweet touch, but not quick enough to miss Aalim sucking gently on Ren's bottom lip and then pulling away, giggling at the trace of black make-up on his upper lip and in the corner of his mouth. Ren brushes it away with the pad of his thumb.

Aalim is still giggling when the first spasm contorts his face and cuts his breath off. He staggers and clutches at his stomach. His glass, still nearly full, falls to the floor.

The loud shatter of glass draws everyone's attention. But when they recognise the source of the noise - Aalim gurgling and gasping for breath while Ren watches, a mask of polite bewilderment on his face - nearly everyone of the oligarchs and merchants turn their back on the scene, carrying on with their conversation. Clever, the lot of them, Hux thinks. His own courtiers look on, completely unfazed. Only Askan Galda moves to rise with a stifled cry - then he looks at Ren with horror - then at the Emperor - and whatever he sees, it makes him fall back into the seat and shut up. An old Imperial indeed, Hux thinks. Knows when to cut his losses.

Aalim's body collapses on the floor. He's dead before his head hits the tiles.

But all this registers only secondarily, just as a distant thing. All that Hux sees is the black blot of paint on Ren's bottom lip. It must have been laced with poison. Worrt venom, most likely. Ren has ties to Tattooine where the worrts are native, and they say that worrt venom tastes like tricopper pigment. It's elegant. It's wicked. It's genius. Hux shifts in his seat and realises that he's more than half-hard.

And then, across the room, Ren holds his gaze and slowly sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. When it appears again, it's licked clean. Hux sees jaw muscles work on a swallow.

A black hole opens under Hux's chair and he's falling, the speed and depth of the fall infinite and none at all because there's nothing to compare it to. From outside his own body, he can watch himself, regal and powerful in a room full of fear, an image frozen for eternity on the event horizon, suspended in a single moment of time.

He's dimly aware that he's breaking one of his own rules: no eye-contact in public outside of direct audiences or issuing orders. Rules don't apply anymore because Ren has just swallowed a deadly poison, and for how long can he delay the effect using the Force? Can the Force even do that?

_Careful, Emperor. People might think you care._

The words brush along the inner surface of his skull and Hux shivers. Then he notices one of the rings on Ren's hand, dripping a clear liquid into his glass. He wouldn't have noticed it if he didn't know Ren's usual mannerism, the way he holds things, the way he drinks - so innocent it's the subtle hold on his glass, allowing him to slip the antidote inside. Ren looks down on Aalim's body, still feigning shock and regret. As if distracted, he lifts the glass to his lips. Doesn't drink. His brows draw together as if lost in thoughts. Hux can see the corners of his eyes turning red. The rest of the strain of his body against the poison goes unnoticed beneath the white paint on his face.

 _Swallow that damn antidote. Drink it or I'll pour it down your throat myself_ , Hux thinks as loudly as he can.

 _Oh, would you? I wonder_. The Force-thought floating inside Hux's head is laced with ironic laughter. _Would you really care if I died?_

Ren doesn't wait for Hux's answer. He takes a good gulp of his drink and holds the glass close, still raised, as if he didn't know what to do with his hands. Hux knows what it is, though. A mock-toast to Emperor's health.

Hux hits the other end of the wormhole and falls back into the same spot in the space-time. Aalim's body has not yet started to get cold. Askan Galda is staring ahead, a picture of survival instincts.

"You shouldn't be drinking from that glass, Lord Ren," Hux calls out. It's a small miracle his voice doesn't sound raspy. "That boy gave it to you, it might be poisoned too."

Ren bows slightly and takes another sip. "I believe this one is all right, your Majesty. This would-be assassin simply gave me the wrong glass. It's unfortunate - for him."

Hux turns to Askan. The old man's face tells him plainly that Galda understands how the game is going to be played.

"I apologise for the actions of my wayward son," he says. "He had no backing in our family, I assure you! I will personally lead the investigation in the circle of his acquaintances. Someone must have corrupted him."

"I am saddened by your loss, Galda, but every family has a black sheep. I am sure you will find that this was just an act of temporary lunacy," Hux replies benevolently. At the back of his mind, he can hear a faint laughter. _Get out of my head, Ren._

A temporary lunacy, how fitting. It was his jealousy that started this madness.

In the end, Askan Galda accepts the merciful forgiveness of the Emperor and his willingness to forget the attack on Lord Ren's life in exchange for selling his estate to a family of Hux's choosing.

All things considered, this particular business outing is successful. Hux has now one family indebted to him, another weakened with a burned of an estate that they don't know yet how big a credit pit it is, and the Galaxy still lies at his feet. He still has Ren's loyalty. He has everything.

But he doesn't have Ren.

It's a moment of triumph and it tastes like a morning cup of liquor-flavoured caf - sweet with the heady tone of victory and bitter with the trace of cyanide in the almonds.

 

*

 

Two weeks after their return on Coruscant Hux reroutes all maintenance reports into his personal data feed. He keeps looking for incidents: wracked practice rooms, smashed furniture, fried electronics. Nothing comes up. The Imperial Palace is running smoothly and without a single disturbance.

After another week of this disturbing armistice it occurs to him to check on the stock in the infirmary. He finds no extra orders of tranquilisers and the dispensing rate of drugs is nothing out of ordinary.

Ren attends every open court, like the watchdog he is. His mask stays on every time. One or two of his Knights are usually with him, the rest scattered throughout the Galaxy, carrying out the Emperor's will. The Knights stop two assassination attempts in the week leading up to the first anniversary of Hux's ascent to the Imperial throne. Quickly, efficiently, and ruthlessly, with just the right dash of drama to instil terror into anyone else who might have such an inclination.  

Hux wonders if his bodyguards and the entire Palace security staff would be able as much as lift a finger in defence if the Knights decided to do away with him.

The eve of the anniversary crawls upon the Palace like a fog, hushed, silencing every sound. Hux is taking a stroll along the corridors. He'd dismissed his guards after they secured the perimeter and now it's just him, the black and red of the tapestries, and the hum of the force field generators reverberating through the walls. Hux feels the frequency resonating in the marrow of his bones, his synapses locking onto familiar sensations. He guesses that this is what home must feel like.

He realises he doesn't even know where Ren's quarters are. The Knights have their lodgings in a separate wing when they stay at the Palace but Ren, with his status of a courtier, must have been given rooms elsewhere. Hux recalls that in those early days, Ren would have to frequently move out of those he trashed and be given new ones. When things settled between them into something resembling routine - Hux shies from calling it a habit - the complaints about destroyed rooms stopped. Ren must have had settled into one place. Hux wonders if he calls it home.

He rounds a corner and speak of the devil...

It's the first time in weeks he sees Ren without that odious black and silver contraption of a mask. But instead of that still young, crooked, never entirely controlled face, what meets his eyes is yet another mask. Ren is standing, broad and hunched, with his hands clasped behind his back, at one of the wide bay windows. The view is showing the convex line of the horizon drowning in sunset, miles and miles beneath the floating Palace.

Ren's  face, illuminated by the rosy light reflected on the opalescent clouds hanging between them and the ground, is covered in compact shade of ashy grey. His hair is entirely hidden by the criss-crossing nest of grey strings wrapped around his head and neck, and his simple, geometric cut robe has the same colour as his face. He looks like an apparition, like a ghost, a mere bleached image of the heavy presence that commanded the space around him by the sheer intensity of his power.

When he slightly turns his head in acknowledgement of the Emperor, Hux sees that the only decorative aspects of the make-up are two vertical lines splitting each eye, from forehead to the middle of the cheek, and a slightly darker shade delineating the upper lip. No mark on his bottom lip and Hux is glad. He'd already developed a conditioned response to seeing Ren in make-up and after he watched him literally kill a man with a kiss, using not his brutish strength but his contrary beauty as a weapon, he cannot even think of that dot of dark paint without getting hard.

It takes Hux two seconds to recognise the meaning of this particular outfit. Ash is the colour of mourning; those scar-like lines across his eyes are the ritual symbols of weeping.

Hux's breath is suddenly too short to fill his chest. He knows all too well whose body had burned on a pyre exactly a year ago, filling the air with black greasy smoke and acrid stench of burning, already half-rotten flesh. His heart gives one odd beat at the thought that Ren might be mourning his former master. 

Hux stands still, indecisive. The corridor he came through is just a step back away, another one opens on his left, offering an easy escape. His hands clench into fists at the small of his back. The Emperor does not step back, he does not escape.

"She was beautiful."

Ren's deep voice yanks Hux out of the dark swell of his thoughts and rights him on his feet. He takes a few deliberate steps closer. At this distance, he has to tilt his head back a little to keep eye contact. It's been a long time since he had to do this.

"I can't remember her much, but what memories I have, she's always very beautiful in them. Like the Princess she was. Beautiful and distant, an untouchable thing."

Hux grits his teeth on the mouthful of guilt that travels up his throat. Guilt is paralytic, unbecoming of a leader, guilt is crippling. Anger at one's failings is better, angers is a propelling force, a forward motion transforming failure into success. Now Hux is angry with himself: he'd forgotten about the one other death that happened exactly year ago. Snoke's last order.

"She died believing it would bring me back to light."

Hux never understood the Force, the endless and futile ramblings about Sides, all that mysticism and vagueness of it. For him, there is no Light, nor Dark: he strives for Order, and abhorrs Chaos. Maybe those two sets of opposites align in some universes, but in this one, it seems to Hux as if his and Ren's worlds revolve around entirely different axes.

But he can remember the rage, the hate and the shrill despair with which Ren killed his master in revenge for his mother's death, and perhaps... perhaps for Ren, the Order has a colour, too.

Seeing Ren like this, serene and meditative in the last light of day, just an echo and ashes of the noise and fire he can be, makes Hux want to come up to stand behind him and wrap his hands around Ren's torso, laying his face between Ren's shoulder blades and just hold on. Just like that day when Starkiller base was destroyed and he was sent to search the cracking, angry woods for Ren, found him bleeding and defeated on the snow, and Ren had  thrown his arms around Hux's neck like a question, without stipulations, and Hux had wrapped his own around him in an answer, without doubts. They still hated each other on that day, and yet Ren trusted him implicitly, trusted that Hux would save him. Everything was easier when they still hated each other. Maybe Ren hates him again now. Maybe he never stopped hating him.  

"How have you been?"

The question is out before Hux can stop it. _Caring_. He cares more now when he has no right to than he did when he could.

Ren is looking down at him, eyes black against the ash, and that slightly darker upper lip softened in a barely there smile.

"Waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kylo. In his killer outfit. [This beautiful piece ](http://creepycreepyspacewizard.tumblr.com/post/149079494454/todays-warm-up-is-kylo-and-his-killer-outfit-from)by creepycreepyspacewizard is just breaking my heart all over.


	4. IV

On the eve of the anniversary of his greatest victory, Emperor Hux loses a battle - and ends a war. Because for once in his life, victory would be unbearably bitter. This one loss is sweet and already addictive, and Hux is out of his depth, scared of the unknown and yet giddy with it. It's like gazing into the deep: at once filling him with dread of the fall and tempting him with the terrible beauty of the flight.

Kylo Ren needs Hux; that's a given, that's an elemental constant, weaved into the fabric of the time-space. But Hux needing Ren... that might as well be the big bang of a new, unpredictable, violent universe.

"You detest weakness," Ren is saying, warily, when Hux leads him back to his quarters, the light press of fingers on the ashen silk covering Ren's upper arm a necessary reassurance that this is happening. Hux knows that Ren is not talking about himself. His Knight understands him: Accepting this - this thing between them - means exposing a weak spot of the Emperor. For a disciple of a mystic doctrine bordering on sorcery, Ren can be surprisingly rational. And yet he doesn't want to settle for a compromise. Hux understands the real question behind Ren's statement:   _Are you sure?_

"We are so strong together," Hux says. It's truth: they are. The Emperor and his Enforcer, a scorching wind that wipes all traces and stains of disorder from the Galaxy. "We can try to be... everything. Together."

 _I won't lie to you. I'm not sure. But I want to try_.

Ren steps inside Hux's quarters and lets the door slide shut behind him. It's enough of an answer, for now.

Hux contemplates his visage for a moment. The evenly spread pigment makes Ren look like a perfect statue, not a single blemish from head to toe, and it has to go. He enters the 'fresher and returns a moment later with a damp, warm towel.

Ren has made himself comfortable on the sofa and is removing his headdress, unwinding the loops of string one at a time. His dark locks, untameable as ever, spring free and fan out around his face. When he's finished, Hux hands him the cloth. Ren doesn't take it. He tilts his head back instead and closes his eyes.

Baby steps. The closed eyes are helping. Hux doesn't know if he could handle that wide-eyed, thirsty, no-holds-barred gaze right now. He had touched Ren's face with gentleness before, but never when Ren was conscious enough to appreciate it. Hux steps closer, between the open vee of Ren's thighs, and experimentally runs the cloth along Ren's forehead, just beneath the hairline. Ren sighs.

"We'll need a new set of rules," Hux says eventually, dotting the fragile skin around Ren's eyes with feather-light touches and watching Ren's shoulders sink deeper and deeper into the back of the sofa with every breath. "What do you want?"

"Hmmm." It sounds as if Ren has been falling asleep. He cracks his eyes open and squints at the cloth now dabbing around his nose. When he speaks, his deep voice is a bit slurred as he tries not to move his facial muscles too much to disturb Hux's work, but the words are clear enough.

"I want everything you can give. I want the pain and the praise and the games and you in control and you out of it. I can handle that, Hux. I am strong."

"I know you are."

The way Ren's lips catch on the towel, yielding and pulling away to show a hint of teeth, daring Hux to replace the cloth with his own lips. Hux has to breathe through it. He presses the pad of his thumb into the middle of the bottom lip instead, closing that beautiful mouth shut. There's a peek of tongue, slipping through to tease at his finger, just so. Hux doesn't relent. He wipes away the rest of the makeup from Ren's face and lets the dirty towel fall onto the floor. Runs his fingers along the smooth line of jaw, still a bit wet from the washing. Grips that soft chin between his fingers and thumb. Feels the surprisingly strong bone beneath the downy skin.

"I know you are," he repeats. "My beautiful angel of death. My fearsome knight. And yet you need me to be stronger than you, don't you? Putting you in your place. Taking you in hand."

Ren's pupils are blown wide, pools of black in amber rings. "I want the game we play," he says breathlessly. "You, giving me impossible tasks, and punishing me when I fail."

Hux's ready and glib answer fades from his lips when he notices the flush rising in Ren's cheeks. The Knight's eyes are glistening, and experimentally, Hux presses a fingertip against the corner of one. It comes away wet.

"What's this?" He has to duck his head to meet Ren's eyes. "Look at me. Tell me."

Ren is gripping both Hux's hands around the wrists now, as if he's afraid that Hux might take them away from his face.

"It makes me believe that failure..." he swallows, in search for words. "That it's something that _can_ happen, and that I can pay for it, and be forgiven, and move on." His voice trembles precariously. "That I can fail you and still not _be a failure_ in the end."

Hux doesn't know much about Ren's beginnings but he knows what it is like to be growing up to expectations. He moves to straddle Ren's lap before he can question himself out of it.

"You, Kylo Ren–" he grabs his head and smoothens the hair out of his face, "–are an incredibly spoiled brat–" he pushes Ren's shoulders flat against the sofa and leans back to get some room to start working on his jacket buttons, "–a terrible nightmare at times–" Ren's fingers brush brazenly against Hux's throat in the pretence of helping with the collar button, "–a pain in my arse all the fucking time–" and Ren throws his head back and _laughs_ , "–but never a failure, Kylo. Never."

Hux's jacket joins the towel on the floor and he leans forward again, eyeing that supple, waiting mouth. The image of a dark tricopper blot on it has been haunting his erotic fantasies for weeks now. He taps the bottom lip with his finger again, presses the edge of his nail against it. Watches the blood rush to the surface in the crescent-shaped indent. His own arousal is rushing south, pooling hot and heavy in his lap, and the silk material of Ren's robes is doing very little to conceal his own situation.

"I'm half the mind never let you wear that makeup in public again," he grins at Ren's failed attempt to suck Hux's finger into his mouth. "Have you had any idea what you did to me when–"

"I could feel it," Ren breathes, grinning back.

"For future reference, out of my head rule stays."

Kylo's eyes sparkle with mischief but he ducks his head in acquiescence.

Hux's can't get enough of touching his face. It has to do something with the way Ren is all but melting under the slightest caress, lips getting dry with air rushing over them in rapid pants and quiet moans. His thighs are trembling under Hux's lap, hips keep shifting upwards in little aborted movements.

"Do you know what I wanted?" Hux leans close to whisper directly in Ren's ear. "I thought of telling you to apply that poison on your lips again. I thought of spreading you on my bed and taking my time with you. I would drive you to the edge, three, four, five times - and then I would order you to swallow it." He grinds his hips forward in a sharp thrust. "How many times do you think I could make you come before you'd need the antidote?"

Ren's back arches off the sofa, his hands on Hux's arms seizing for a second of a painful, vice-like grip, before he remembers himself and let's go with a whole body shudder, collapsing back and gasping with his eyes screwed shut.

Hux blinks. "Did you just...?"

Ren is still breathing rapidly but he has the cheek to snort. "Give me some credit." He swallows down a few times and when he opens his eyes, they're wet and burning. "But that was damn close."

Hux feels like laughing. Or like falling. Perhaps both. He shakes his head in resignation at himself.

"Fucking unbelievable. Is there anything I could do to you that would break you?"

Ren ghosts his fingers on the inside of his wrist. Licks his lips and tilts his head to the side, bringing them just a hair width away from Hux's mouth.

"Keeping yourself away," he says, the exhale tingling Hux's nerve endings, and it's a battle lost, it's always been a battle lost, from the first day.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are the path to the Force. Comments lead to joy. Joy leads to love. Love leads to more writing.


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